The Walls That Bleed
by TheOtherHalfBloodPrince
Summary: "That's not the weird part. Her son says the walls killed her," Sam tells Dean. "Well, then I guess we got work to do," Dean replies. Rated T for violence, gore and language.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: A Familiar City, A Familiar Voice

"Find anything?" Dean Winchester asks Sam between mouthfuls of candy. Sam is scouring the internet, checking every article for a job for him and his brother. Sam has his head buried in his laptop, which has become a familiar sight, given the fact that he rarely ever gets a good night's sleep anymore. He hasn't since the nightmares started. Sam never really goes into much detail regarding their content, and Dean doesn't pry.

Keeping secrets runs in the Winchester family, and usually, no one gives a damn if you do.

Dean peruses articles in the paper, leaning the chair on its back legs and resting his feet on the small table in the motel room. This is one of the crappier motels the brothers have stayed in. It's also one of the shadier ones, and that's saying something. The gray paint is peeling off the walls, and mold clouds the formerly white ceiling. Not to mention, Dean has noticed several people coming and going with their own private arsenals in their jacket pockets.

One headline followed by a few paragraphs catches Sam's eye. A woman was found dead in her house. There was no sign of forced entry, and no murder weapon was found. But that's not what sparks Sam's interest. The woman's son was home when it happened. He claims that the walls did it.

"Yeah, I think so," Sam tells Dean, turning the computer screen toward him. Dean takes all of thirty seconds to read the two page article, which sets the record for the longest time he's spent researching a job.

"What makes you think this is one of ours?" Dean asks, pulling his eyes away from the screen. Sam rolls his eyes as his brother returns to the chair.

"Well, you would know if you bothered to read it," Sam scrolls through the story until he finds the paragraph he is looking for. He is prepared to read every word when Dean speaks before he has the chance to.

"It's not like she just dropped dead. Her throat was slit. Probably did it herself," Dean dismisses the article entirely.

"That's not the weird part. Her son says that the walls killed her," Sam smugly tells Dean, proud that he found a lead before his brother, which rarely happens. They either find something together, or Dean runs off by himself to finish the job. Sam swears Dean is becoming more like Dad every day. Dean already drives his car, wears his jacket, and listens to the same five albums as Dad. How much more alike can they become?

Dean stops eating his peanut M&Ms for a moment the let the information sink in. He takes one last look around the motel room before saying, "Well, then I guess we got work to do."

Sam tears the notes off the wall. Each torn sheet of paper is riddled with maps, articles, coordinates, photos, and details of various spirits that could have possibly haunted the small town in Nebraska. The hunting job wasn't very difficult. They torched a body and wrapped up everything in about a week.

Dean throws two bags into the back of his car and slides behind the wheel of the Impala. The engine roars to life and settles into its usual, gentle purr. He pops in a tape labeled "Metallica". Sam shakes his head. He must have heard that tape so many times that every note is permanently burned into his memory.

"So where we headed?" Dean asks Sam, who has the map spread across his lap.

"Saint Louis," Sam responds, tracing the twisting lines on the map with his finger. "We should be there in about six hours." Sam checks his watch. They should be there tonight around seven, maybe later when you factor in the stop they will make for dinner.

Dean sighs. Of all the cities in America, they had to visit the only one where he's dead. He drums his fingertips on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, trying to push the thoughts of someone recognizing him out of his mind.

"What do you think we're dealing with here?" Sam asks, reading over the article on the woman's murder, just to make sure he didn't miss anything.

"I dunno. Maybe a poltergeist or a demon, something like that," Dean replies. He glances over at his brother, who struggles to keep his eyes open. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wake you up when we stop to eat," Dean says.

"I'm fine," Sam responds, not taking his eyes away from the map. He can't - he won't - fall asleep. He just can't take the dreams anymore. Seeing Jess burn on the ceiling once was enough. He doesn't need to relive it every time he closes his eyes.

"Sure," Dean comments sarcastically. He knows Sam can't sleep for more than a few hours without jolting awake, completely freaked out.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks, with more than a hint of an accusation in his voice.

"Oh, don't pull that crap with me, Sam. We both know you've barely slept since that night," Dean says, his voice echoing in the newly formed silence that encompasses the brothers. Deep down, Sam knows that Dean's right. He just doesn't want to admit it to anyone.

Especially to himself.

"Fine," Sam grumbles, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of his seat just to get Dean off his case. Honestly, he wishes that Dean would stop worrying about him. He's twenty-two years old, for God's sake. Sam doesn't realize how tired he really is until the fatigue takes over. He is asleep almost instantly.

After about four hours on the road, Dean's phone rings. He answers quickly before it wakes Sam. "Yeah," Dean says, glancing over at Sam to make sure he's still asleep.

"Dean?" a voice asks, a voice Dean would know anywhere. There's no question as to whose it is.

"Dad?" Dean marvels, shocked to hear from his father.

**Thanks for reading. This is my first ****_Supernatural _****fanfic, so I hope you like it. Please write a review. I'll try to update all of my stories on Friday.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Shades of Blue

This is the first time Dean's heard his father's voice since he and Sam set out to find him. They knew he was alive because, occasionally, Dad would text them coordinates, finding hunting jobs for them.

It's not like Dean isn't happy to hear from his father. Hell, he's practically ecstatic, but a small sliver of anger and resentment finds its way in, reminding Dean that his father took off without a word.

Leaving Sam and Dean to wonder if he was even alive.

"What do you want, Dad?" Dean asks, not bothering to keep his voice down. Sam wakes up and looks quizzically at Dean. Then, his mind registers what's going on: Dean's talking to Dad.

"Is that Dad?" Sam questions, although he already knows the answer. Dean nods, confirming his suspicions. Sam doesn't know whether to be happy that his father called... or to be completely pissed about all the crap he put Sam through, not just having to walk away from his life to drive across the country with Dean to look for him, but about everything.

"Is Sam with you?" Dad wonders aloud, hearing the voice in the background of the call. John Winchester pushes away the emotion because he's not sure what he's feeling. On one hand, he is happy that his youngest son is okay, but on the other, he can't forget the arguments that he and Sam fight every time they're in the same freaking room.

"Yeah. You wanna talk to him?" Dean says as he hands the phone to his brother, not waiting for a response. He's not sure why he does this. Dean has spent months looking for his father, but a small part of him just can't face the man right now. Maybe it's because he feels betrayed by Dad, the one person he could always count on to be there for him, especially when Sam left for college.

And that man walked away and left his son alone, as if it were no big deal.

Dean braces himself for the fight that will surely ensue. Every time Sam and Dad talk, they find something to bitch about. The last time this happened, Dad told Sam to leave, and he went to Stanford, leaving Dean alone with the man who took his baby brother from him. Dean just can't wrap his mind around why his father would just send his eighteen year old son away to college and not even bother to call.

Dean knows Sam doesn't want to talk to Dad. He can tell from the way his brow creases and how his jaw sets, as if Sam is trying not to speak, trying not to unleash all the pent-up rage he holds inside of him.

"Dad," Sam says, his voice becoming a monotone overflowing with anger.

"Sam, I need you to write down something for me," Dad says. Sam can't believe what he's hearing. After all the things he said to Sam, he has the _nerve _to waltz in and order him around like nothing ever happened?

Without a 'hi, Sam', or a 'how are you', or maybe a damn apology.

But that will never happen because nothing has changed. Even when they were kids, all their father did was order them around like a drill instructor. Dean, much unlike his brother, followed him blindly. It didn't matter what Dad asked. Dean would obey... no matter how great the risk was.

"Why should I?" Sam challenges. Maybe some part of him just wants to get a rise out of his father but the other wants to beat that damn sense of power out of him. One day he has to learn that Sam isn't his pawn for his twisted games.

"Because I gave you an order," Dad commands. Sam just shakes his head. Some things never change. Based on Sam's defiance, Dean senses that his father is saying something important. He snatches the phone out of Sam's hand and holds it to his ear.

"It's Dean," he answers.

"I need you to write something down for me," Dad says. Dean pulls over and stops the car on the shoulder of the road.

"What?" Dean grabs a pen and copies down the information relayed to him. Dam rolls his eyes at the way Dean obey without question. It's almost an instinct. And that instinct could be drilled into Dean, but not into Sam.

"Dean, I think I have a lead on the thing that killed Mom. I'm in St. Louis. Look, I know you two want to help, but the best way to do that is to not follow me. I promise when I find the bastard I'll bring you to it," Dad explains. Dean's heart nearly skips a beat. The whole reason he became a hunter is to kill the thing that murdered their mom. Even though he was just a little kid when it happened, Dean remembers every last second of that night.

"Yes sir," Dean hangs up the phone and crams it back into his pocket. He pulls into a small diner, and he and Sam climb out. They slip into a booth in the corner, one that is out of sight so they can go, for the most part, unseen.

"So, where'd Dad tell you to run off this time?" Sam asks, shooting his brother a glare.

"Somewhere in Michigan," Dean responds, taking a sip of his beer. The cold liquid is refreshing as it runs down his throat, washing away the feelings of unease that ravage his body.

"When are we leaving?" Sam asks, knowing that Dean will take off, his blind faith in their father surely to prevail over reason.

"We're not," Dean says, much to Sam's surprise. Then, he grins, adding, "Well, not until I get that waitress's number." Sam fully expected to be rushed out of the diner and back on the road before he finished eating. "You really think Dad'll tell us when he finds that demon?" Dean adds, noticing the look Sam is giving him.

"Wow, I'm shocked," Sam replies, tipping his bottle back. For as long as he can remember, Dean has never disobeyed a direct order from Dad.

"Am I missing something?" Dean asks, though it comes out as more of an accusation than a question. Even though every instinct is screaming for him to go to Michigan, a tiny part of him needs to go to St. Louis and find Dad.

"This is the first time you've ever not listened to Dad," Sam marvels, trying to remember a time when Dean's rebellious streak - although it's far to wide to even be considered a streak anymore - was ever used when dealing with their father. It's never happened.

"Well, I guess you're rubbing off on me, Sam," Dean shrugs, letting his eyes wander around the diner. Dean can't help but notice a woman slide into a booth across from them.

Her black hair falls to her shoulders. The bangs covering half of her right eye - and a few streaks running through the rest of her hair - are dyed a deep, vibrant blue, matching her eyes. She appears to be Dean's age, give or take. She wears a black leather jacket, faded, torn jeans, and combat boot. Dean has to admit: she's not bad looking. Screw not bad; she's hot.

Sam notices Dean staring and sighs, "Honestly, can you go five minutes without checking out every girl that walks by?" Dean returns his attention to his brother, but not before flashing the girl a smile.

"C'mon, Sammy, we _are _allowed to have a little fun," Dean answers, stealing one last glance at her before asking for the check.

Sam and Dean walk out of the diner and climb into the Impala. Dean takes the wheel and blasts Led Zeppelin through the speakers. He immerses himself in the music, subconsciously humming along. Finally, they find an out-of-the-way motel with just the right amount of security: Not enough to bat an eye if the brothers return with blood on their clothes or knives in their hands.

Sam grabs the duffle bags from the trunk and slings them over his shoulder. He drops them on the floor and collapses into the bed, though he fights to stay awake. Dean locks the car and makes his way to their motel room when something catches his eye: the girl from the diner.

She parks her motorcycle a discrete distance away from the Impala. Any other day, Dean would be flirting with her and admiring her Harley Davidson, but not when she followed him to the motel. Dean saw the bike behind him the entire way here. It could be a coincidence that they're both staying at the same place, but coincidences are not something the Winchesters encounter.

"You better have a hell of a reason for following me here!" Dean pins her arms behind her back, holding her against the wall. He points his gun at her head, waiting for an answer, and she better have a _damn _good one.

**I hope you liked this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it. I would like to thank CandyCakes for being the first one to follow this story. I might end up having to rate it M in future chapters. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Telling Secrets

"If you're still trying to flirt with me, you've got a funny way of showing it," Veronica Miller smirks, struggling against Dean's grip. She underestimated Dean. He's got more strength that she gave him credit for.

Veronica knows Dean won't shoot her. She has valuable information.

Veronica gives Dean a swift and effective kick in the shin, and it catches him off guard just enough for her to pin him against the wall, his gun now in her hand. His arms are held firmly behind his back while the front of him is pressed flat against the wall. Dean's grimace meets her eyes. Damn, hot and tough. She's got it all.

A black, leather book lies open at Dean's feet. Writing and pictures are scrawled across the pages. He squints down at it, trying to make out what the words are.

Sam bursts out of the room, gun in hand. "Let him go," he commands, daring to take another step closer. Veronica, however, is unperturbed. She knows just how to stop him. Veronica knows what Sam's greatest weakness is: Dean, and she intends on using that to her advantage.

"Watch it, Sammy. Make the wrong move, and big brother's gonna have a bullet in his skull," Veronica holds the barrel of the gun to the back of Dean's head, finger hovering dangerously over the trigger. Veronica won't shoot Dean, but Sam doesn't need to know that.

Sam takes a step back, pointing the gun away and raising his arms in surrender. How does she know that Dean is his brother? He supposes that someone could find that information if they really wanted to, but they wouldn't know that his nickname is Sammy. Sam realizes that he can't force the girl to put the gun down, but he can reason with her.

"You're a hunter?" Dean asks, finally able to make out the words in the book. An entire two pages are devoted to witchcraft. There is more information than Dad ever put in his journal, including a few spells. Dean is mentally kicking himself for not knowing that he and Sam were being followed by a hunter before he is held at gunpoint.

"Depends on who's asking," Veronica replies. Dean seizes his chance. He puts Veronica in a headlock and drags her into the room. Veronica tries to pull his arms off while she lets her legs go limp, making it harder for Dean to move her. Sam scoops up the journal and flips through the pages. Veronica feels the cool metal of the gun press against her temple. She just laughs. She really thought these two were smarter that this.

"You're not gonna shoot me, Dean," Veronica laughs.

"What makes you so sure?" Dean smirks, letting his finger apply gentle pressure on the trigger. He can kill her if he wants to, but for some reason, he doesn't think he should.

"Because I can help you," Veronica says.

"How?" Dean questions, slightly loosening his grip on the gun, but still keeping it firmly pressed against her head.

"I can make sure Daddy lives to see another day," Veronica explains, letting a smile cross her lips.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you're talking about?" Dean releases her, but still keeps his weapon trained at her head. He usually doesn't let this stuff get to him, but what she says finds a way to get under Dean's skin, making him want to know more.

"I know why you're here, and not just the half-assed excuse you gave your brother. You don't give a damn about finding that demon right now. You just want to find your father," Veronica answers.

"How do you know that?" he pries, his voice becoming shaky. He never told anyone that.

"Ever heard of a little thing called psychometry?" she asks, receiving her answer in the confused expression that forms on Dean's face.

"It's a psychic ability in which someone can gather information about a person through contact with a object that person owns," Sam answers, remembering reading about individuals that claimed to have this ability.

"Well, it's good to know that _one _of you occasionally reads," Veronica gives Dean a cunning grin. He rolls his eyes.

"So you think you're some kind of psychic?" Dean scoffs. She gives no answer. Does she really expect him to believe that crap? Dean's smarter than this. "Tie her up, Sam," Dean orders, holding the gun to her temple.

Sam pulls out a pair of handcuffs. Veronica willingly holds her wrists out to him. While he snaps the cuffs on, Sam's jacket brushes her hands, giving her all the information she needs.

"You never wanted to be a hunter. You left for Stanford four years ago after a fight with your dad, but something made you come back, didn't it?" Veronica announces, breaking the silence. Sam slowly turns around. Veronica can tell just from his face that she has his full attention. So she continues, "You watched your girlfriend die. You watched Jess burn the same way your mom did."

There are so many things Sam wants to say right now, but he can't for the life of him, think of one. Dean is the only one who knows about what happened, but he never told him that he called her 'Jess'.

"That still doesn't mean I believe you," Dean snarls. He knows what she said hit Sam hard. He can see it in his eyes, but even Dean has to admit that this is pretty strange.

"You want proof?" Veronica asks.

"Yeah, I do. In fact, I want you to tell me about this," Dean sits down on the bed across from her, pointing to his necklace. Nobody knows the whole story behind it.

"Let me hold it," she extends her bound hands. Dean sighs and reluctantly places it in her hands. Veronica can tell he never takes it off from the way his hand discreetly reaches for it, even though it is no longer hanging around his neck.

"This was given to you as a Christmas gift, on yet another Christmas that your father missed, even though he promised you he'd be there. Sam gave it to you. You never take it off because it reminds you of your brother. And ever since you pulled little Sammy out of the fire, you've felt like it's your job to protect him," Veronica says. Dean's gruff expression softens. "That's why it tore you apart when he left, because, deep down, Dean, you're vulnerable," Veronica hands him back the necklace. He slips it over his head.

"Fine. You can go," Dean grumbles, unlocking the cuffs. Dean can't comprehend what just happened. Slowly the anxiety washes over him, gaining complete control. He's not nervous because she knows a few things about him.

He's nervous because every single word that came out of her mouth was true. _Every _word.

Sam doesn't know what to think. He never knew Dean actually missed him when he left. But then again, how would he know? His brother never went to see him, and he rarely ever called. Plus, Dean has a strict, personal rule against talking about feelings.

"You said something about our father," Sam mercifully lifts the awkward silence that blankets the room. Veronica's expression turns grave as she turns to face him, hand still gripping the doorknob.

"Why don't we talk on the way to visit that murdered woman's son," Veronica responds, giving herself an invitation to join Sam and Dean.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: They Told Me

Veronica gently runs her fingers along the sharp edge of her knife, delicately caressing the blade. She smiles at her distorted reflection in the silver. This blade holds so many memories. Being a hunter, Veronica has multiple knives, but this one isn't like the others.

This one is special. This is the knife started it all. This knife is the reason Veronica became a hunter.

Beautiful jewels grace the ebony hilt. The silver blade is six inches long and ends in a sharp point. When she looks at it -really looks- she can almost see the blood, but she won't think about that now. She can't think about that now.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Veronica slips the knife into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulls out her gun. She slowly creeps to the door, resting her hand on the knob.

"I still don't see why we have to bring her," Dean complains, knocking on the door for a second time. He is growing impatient.

"I told you. She knows something about Dad," Sam sighs, exasperated because he has to explain this to his brother for the umpteenth time. The door flies open, and the brothers find themselves on the wrong end of Veronica's gun. Sam freezes, while Dean hand reaches for his gun.

"Oh, it's just you," Veronica relaxes, lowering the weapon.

"Is this always how you answer the door?" Dean asks. Veronica responds with a sarcastic laugh.

"I didn't realize this was a black tie event," she says, gesturing to their suits. Dean gives her a stern look when he sees her t-shirt and ripped jeans. "Give me a minute to change," she sighs, venturing back inside the motel room. Veronica emerges wearing much nicer clothes.

"We're taking my car," Dean orders, pointing to the Impala when he sees Veronica making her way to the Harley. "I believe you owe me some information." Veronica trudges to the side of the vehicle.

"Nice ride," she says, looking in the window to see the interior.

"I know," Dean replies with a smile, running his fingers along the dashboard.

"Is that normal?" Veronica asks Sam as she slides into the backseat, gesturing to Dean.

"He really likes his car," Sam explains as if it is a familiar sight.

"No, I really like Hooters. My feelings for my car are much greater," Dean corrects Sam, shoving the keys into the ignition. The engine roars to life. ACDC blasts through the speakers as Dean hums along.

"Well that's healthy," Veronica responds.

"What do you know about John Winchester?" Sam pries. He turns to look at her. Veronica shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to find a way to break it gently.

"Not much. He's in St. Louis looking for a yellow-eyed demon, but it's not here. I don't know what is here, but it's hunting him," Veronica begins. "I think it might be the connected with what you came here to hunt. If we find out what killed this woman, I think we can save your father."

Dean goes rigid when he hears this. "What the hell do you mean 'we can save him'?" he asks, but he's fairly confident he knows the answer.

"Something wants him dead," she answers, her voice dropping to a whisper. Dean's grip on the wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white. He forces the pedal to the floor. If finishing this job can save Dad, then the sooner it's finished, the better.

Sam remains in silence. It's comforting. In the silence, he can fully immerse himself in his thoughts without distraction. He and Dad's relationship never really has measured up with Hallmark's standards, but that doesn't mean Sam wants him dead. In fact, Sam would go to extreme lengths to save him.

If Sam has learned anything from his father, it's that family is always the first priority.

Dean pulls out his phone and dials. He desperately hopes that Dad will answer. Unfortunately, all Dean hears is his father's voice in the prerecorded voicemail. "Damn it, Dad, answer the phone," he hangs up and shoves it into his pocket without leaving a message.

The paved roads turn into gravel as they travel farther away from the city. Dean winces at the sound of the tires crunching on the rocks, until the gravel roads turn to dirt. Soon, a large house looms overhead. The curtains are drawn and the door is firmly closed. Two police cars are parked outside. The front door opens, and two police officers emerge.

"So what law enforcement officials are we impersonating today?" Veronica asks, ready to pull out a badge and an ID.

"FBI," Dean retrieves two badges from an old cigar box and hands one of them to Sam. The three open the car doors and stroll up to the house. The cops quickly stop them before they even get to the driveway.

"This is a crime scene," the officer lies. It would be a crime scene if it was a murder, but it's a suicide. Still, he doesn't need people bothering the family inside. "You guys can't go in."

"Yeah, it's our crime scene," Veronica holds her badge out to the officer. Sam and Dean hold their badges out as well.

"Since when is the FBI interested in a suicide?" the other man questions.

"We have reason to believe that Caroline Williams was murdered," Sam explains.

"We have an eyewitness. It wasn't murder," the officer says. Though he has to admit: her death was pretty strange. The woman's throat was slit, but no knife was found. And not to mention, the son. The poor kid saw the whole thing. He must have gone into shock because he keeps babbling on about the walls.

"Really? And the son said suicide? And he hid the knife?" Dean asks.

"Well, no but-" the man begins, but Dean interrupts.

"Oh, so you found it? Where?" Dean pushes his interrogation further.

"It's all yours," the officer sighs, extending his hand toward the house as he steps out of Dean's way. Dean smirks as he leads Sam and Veronica to the front door.

Sam knocks on the door. A man, who Dean assumes to be Caroline's husband, slowly opens it. Stress lines his face, adding years to his age. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Caroline Williams," Sam says. Dean, Sam, and Veronica show the man their badges.

"I'm Roger. She was my wife," he responds, stepping aside to let them through.

They all take their seats around the kitchen table. Veronica takes in the environment. It's a fairly nice house -or it was. The only light comes from a chandelier above her head, with lights the flicker on and off. Dishes are piled in the sink. She even notices a mug sitting on the edge of the counter, stained with pink lipstick. Veronica looks across the hallway and into the dining room. A bloodstain is prominent against the backdrop of the off-white carpet.

"What can you tell me about Caroline's death?" Sam asks.

Roger takes a deep, shaky breath before beginning, "I wasn't home. The police told me it was suicide, but it couldn't have been. Caroline was perfectly happy. She just got a big promotion at work. I don't see why she would kill herself." He struggles to keep his voice from faltering, but the last few words catch in his throat. Tears well up in his eyes, but he pushes them away, determined not to cry.

"These questions might seem a little strange, but we need you to answer them," Sam says. Roger nods, slightly confused.

"Have you noticed anything weird happening? Like strange noises, hearing voices, or seeing things?" Sam continues.

"No," Roger answers.

"I understand that your son was home," Dean says, changing the subject. Roger raises his eyes to meet Dean's.

"He saw the whole thing. The whole damn thing," He sighs, hanging his head.

"Can we talk to him?" Dean asks.

"He's in his room. Top of the stairs. First door on your left," Roger says, his voice growing weary.

"Thanks," Sam nods as he, Dean, and Veronica ascend the staircase. Sam knocks gently on the door before walking in.

A young boy sits on his bed, staring out the window. Veronica approaches him, crouching down so they are the same height. As she looks at his face, he knows that he can't be older that ten.

"I'm Veronica. What's your name?" she asks.

"Ryan," the boy responds, keeping his eyes fixed on the window.

"Can you tell me about your mom?" Veronica asks, making her voice sound as calm as she possibly can.

"The walls killed her. I know it sounds crazy, but I saw it," Ryan answers, twirling a loose thread on his jacket around his finger. He shifts uneasily, wondering if these people believe him, or ready to send him to the nut house.

"How do you know the walls killed her?" Veronica asks.

"Because they told me," he sighs.

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I'll be putting in more of Veronica's backstory soon. Write a review, and let me know what you think of this chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter is Caroline's death and is told from her point of view. Hope you enjoy! Please review!**

Chapter Five: It's Never Silent

Caroline Williams places the candles in a circle on the floor, taking extra care in making sure they are in their proper positions. She gingerly steps inside the circle she's created and sets the board down. Caroline takes a match and lights each candle, watching the flames flicker and take shape. The flames' warm glow provides the perfect amount of illumination.

"Is anyone here?" she whispers through the darkness, placing her fingers hesitantly on the planchete. Caroline feels it sliding across the board to the word 'YES'. Her breaths become more shallow and rapid as she glances around her. Seeing nothing, Caroline returns to the task at hand.

"Who are you?" she asks, feeling a rush of excitement as the planchete moves by itself. It flies across the board and lands on the word 'NO'. Caroline becomes slightly confused. Every other time she's tried this, the spirit gave a name.

"What do you want?" Caroline asks, growing more nervous by each second that ticks by. She just wants to contact her mother, who died when Caroline was young. She has been successful before -once- but now something feels wrong. Her hands are shaky as they clasp the crucifix on the rosary around her neck.

The planchete moves to 'Y', then to 'O', then to 'U'. Caroline's heart races as it pounds in her chest. She throws the board back into its box and shoves it away from her. Caroline searches the darkness, hoping that she's dreaming, or that she's imagined this.

Hoping for anything but this.

Ryan Williams kneels on the wooden stairs, watching from between the railings. This isn't the first time he's seen his mother doing this. Every night he hears voices, and every night he comes out to see what they are.

An icy hand gently rests on Caroline's shoulder. She freezes. The hand, once resting gently on her, now pierces the soft skin on her shoulder. Caroline feels a warm, trickle of blood soak into her shirt, causing her to cry out. She jumps to her feet, extinguishes several candles as she does.

All goes silent. Blood pounds in Caroline's ears. She searches every inch of the room, but finds no one. She picks up a candle and holds it in front of her, peering into the darkness.

A young girl, who doesn't look older than sixteen or seventeen, stands in the corner of the dining room, sadness clouding her vibrant, blue eyes. She stares into Caroline's eyes, an eerie smile forming on her face. In her hand, is a knife, shining in the candlelight. She takes a long stride toward Caroline.

The girl is just inches away from her now. Caroline backs up until her back is flat against the wall. Caroline know the girl is a ghost. She can tell by the way the light sometimes just passes right through her.

The spirit brings the knife to Caroline's face, delicately caressing her face with the tip of the silver blade. Caroline goes rigid, stifling a shriek. She prays for her life, still clinging onto the fragile hope that this is all a dream, even though she knows it's real.

Ryan is glued to the scene in front of him. Tears slide down his mother's face as she attempts to escape, but Ryan can't see anyone else but his mother. He desperately wants to do something, but fear paralyzes him, holding him still.

Caroline winces as the knife is pressed against her throat. The blade cuts her neck, sending drops of blood dripping from the wound.

The girl smiles as she says, "Don't worry. It'll all be over soon." The blade is slowly dragged across her throat, purposely not cutting very deep enough to kill her. She savors each precious second that the blade slices through Caroline's skin. It's invigorating, being so in control.

A stinging sensation rips through Caroline's body. The knife cuts deeper, creating a river of blood. The red liquid gushes from her wound, making her feel light-headed and dizzy.

Ryan watches in horror as his mom drops to the floor, falling in a pool of her own blood. He dashes over to her. Ryan leans over her lifeless corpse and shakes her shoulder, hoping to wake her up. Tears flow down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on the carpet.

His gaze drifts to the wall. He rises and takes a tentative step closer to his. This has to be what killed his mom. She died when she touched it. Ryan places his hand on the wall. It shocks him and Ryan swiftly draws his hand away. Whispers surround him, enveloping the room in sound.

_It's not your fault._

Ryan searches around him, looking for the source of the voice.

The front door swings open, and Ryan's father trudges inside, jacket slung over his shoulder and a briefcase dangling from his fingers. His face contorts in horror when he sees his wife.

"What happened?" Roger asks, placing his hands on Ryan's shoulders and looking into his son's fearful eyes.

"I don't know," Ryan sobs. Roger dashes to the phone and dials 911. He frantically begs for an ambulance, even though he knows that Caroline is dead. He kneels down at his wife's side. Her blonde hair is stained with blood. Her beautiful brown eyes are halfway open, yet seeing nothing. Their once caramel color has glazed over.

Blood surrounds her. A deep gash is prominent on her neck, but Roger doesn't see a knife anywhere. A candle lays on the floor a few inches away from her hand.

Ryan stands behind his father, tears running down his face. He sobs harder at the sight of the blood that stains the knees of his pants. He turns to leave, unable to look anymore. Ryan sees a girl standing on the staircase, knife in hand. The weapon catches his eye. Jewels on the hilt sparkle brilliantly in the light. The silver blade reflects the light perfectly, but drops of blood fall from it. A sweet smile is spread across her face as she walks straight into the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Misguided Ghosts

_"I'm so sorry, Roni. I'm so, so sorry," Erica Miller says, tears falling down her cheeks as she holds the knife in her shaky hands. Her blue eyes fill to the brim with sorrow._

_"Erica, you don't have to do this. Just put the knife down," Veronica begs her sister, who seems indifferent to the information. She can't do this. She can't. Erica practically raised her. She's all Veronica's got, and she can't lose her now._

_Erica struggles to keep the knife in her hand. God, why did Veronica have to walk in? It would be so much easier if she didn't have to see Erica like this. She just can't go on anymore. It's too much. Erica really doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to leave her little sister. Veronica's only fourteen._

_"Yes, I do," Erica brings the knife to her throat, sobbing. "It's not your fault." She slashes her neck and collapses onto her bedroom floor, surrounded by her own blood._

_"No!" Veronica cries as she rushes to her sister's side, kneeling beside her. She lifts Erica's head into her arms as she brushes the long, black hair out of her eyes._

_"Take care of yourself," Erica whispers. Blood drips out of her mouth when she coughs._

_Veronica remembers Erica's favorite song. It's one she used to sing to Veronica when she was little. She begins to sing softly, "We are just misguided ghosts, traveling endlessly. Don't need no roads. In fact, they follow me, and we just go in circles."_

_Erica places something in Veronica's hand, and her eyes glaze over as she slips away. Veronica just sits there, holding her sister's body close to her as she cries. She can clearly see the gash in Erica's throat. It's so neat, so... perfect. This gash can only be made by one knife, Veronica's knife._

_Still clutched in Erica's hand, is the blade. It's beautiful. Colorful gems sparkle, and the silver seamlessly reflects the room around them. Veronica looks at the object her sister gave her. It's a key, stained with blood and attached to a chain. She slips it over her head._

Veronica awakes with a start in the back of the Impala. She must have fallen asleep. She slows her rapid breathing as she sits up, running a hand through her hair.

"You okay?" Dean asks from the passenger seat, still mad that Sam is driving. Sam always plays the crappiest music, and he probably does it to annoy Dean.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing," Veronica sighs, letting the music playing on the local variety station fill her head. She's used to having this dream. She has it a few times a week. It doesn't get to her the way it used to. But what does get to her, is the song that starts playing on the radio. It's the song Veronica sang to her sister. She would recognize it anywhere.

"Could change the station?" Veronica asks.

"Why?" Sam says.

"Please. Just change it," Veronica pleads. Relief floods over her as the station is switched and an old rock song emanates from the speakers. They drive into a hospital parking lot. A doctor greets them at the doors and leads them into the morgue.

"How many feds are they gonna send out here?" the doctor asks, a hint of humor finding its way into his voice.

"What?" Dean asks, hoping he doesn't know that he, Sam, and Veronica aren't really with the FBI.

"Another guy came by yesterday. Asked to see the same body," he responds.

"Tall, dark hair, green eyes?" Dean asks, hoping the answer will be yes. Dean desperately needs a solid lead on his father.

"Yeah," the man nods. He pulls out a drawer on the wall, which reveals the body of Caroline Williams. The blood has been washed away, but the cut still remains. "How'd you know?"

"He was assigned to another case. We're taking over this one," Sam jumps in when he sees that Dean doesn't have an answer.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," the doctor leaves the room. Veronica leans over the body, but she doesn't see Caroline. The cut is so neat, but not quite as neat as Erica's was. She sees her sister on that table, and she can almost see the blood. Veronica steps back from the corpse, driving the images away.

"I didn't figure a body would bother you," Dean smirks. Veronica scowls at him.

"Bodies don't bother me," Veronica responds.

"Well, then what is it?" Dean continues to pry, but Veronica knows just what to say to shut him up.

"I'll tell you what," Veronica begins. "You tell me all about your little trip down under, and I'll tell you why I don't like seeing people with their throats cut open," Veronica returns the smirk.

"Fine, I'll shut up," Dean returns to the task at hand without another word.

"How'd you know about that?" Sam questions Veronica.

"There's not much you can keep from a psychic," Valerie explains.

"There's claw marks on her shoulder," Sam points at the thin lines on her arm.

"Check this out," Dean hovers the EMF meter over her body. It screeches and lights up when it passes over the scratches and her throat.

"I think we need to talk to the little boy again," Veronica says. Sam and Dean agree, and the three of them return to the Impala and drive away. Veronica doesn't want to go. She swore she would never come back. She used to live in Caroline's house. She watched her life unravel in this place. It hurts her every time she returns.

"So why'd you become a hunter?" Sam asks, trying to make conversation and get some information about her at the same time.

"When I was sixteen, I realized these things are out there, and they needed to be stopped," Veronica replies.

"Oh come on, you don't just wake up one morning and decide you want to be a hunter," Dean scoffs, Her flashes Veronica and I'm-not-that-big-of-an-idiot look, and she catches on quickly.

"You're right, but that doesn't mean I want to talk about it, so can we drop it?" Veronica snaps, more harshly than she intended. The brothers seem to take the hint and move on.

Dean can't help but feel suspicious. This girl just showed up, and she knows everything about them. Dean knows she's hiding something, and he'll be damned if he can't figure it out.

Soon, they arrive at the house again. Sam takes the lead as they make their way to the front door. He knocks three times, but Roger doesn't answer the door. Ryan does.

"My dad's not home," Ryan peers up at them, his caramel eyes filled with uncertainty.

"We want to talk to you," Sam explains.

Ryan ponders this for a moment before saying, "You have to hurry. My dad'll be home soon, and he'll get mad." They boy brings them into the kitchen, and all of them sit at the table.

"What do you remember about your mom's death?" Sam asks, trying to make that question seem as simple to answer as possible.

"She was playing with this board. She did almost every night, and I could hear her talking to people. That night, she saw someone, and when she touched the wall, she started bleeding. And then she was dead," Ryan's monotone states.

"Did you see anyone? Or hear anything?" Dean asks

"Well, when I touched the wall, I heard someone say 'It's not your fault'. And I could have sword I saw someone for a second. It was a girl. She had a knife," Ryan pulls the memories of that night out of the cage he's locked them in, as if repressing them can make him forget.

This hits Veronica hard. Erica said the same thing before she killed herself.

"What did she look like?" Dean presses Ryan for answers. He needs to solve this thing. He needs to find Dad.

"Kind of like her," Ryan points at Veronica.

"Is this her?" Veronica pulls out a picture of her and Erica -the last picture they took before she died. Ryan nods.

Sam and Dean exchange confused glances. This is getting too strange.

"And is this the knife she was holding?" Veronica pulls her knife out of her jacket pocket and sets it on the table. Ryan nods again.

"Veronica, I think it's about time we had a little chat," Dean stands and grabs her arm as he takes her outside.

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I will be busy tomorrow, so I decided to post this chapter tonight. The song is Misguided Ghosts by Paramore. Please write a review!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Truth Hurts

"What the hell was that?" Dean snaps, taking a seat next to Veronica on the porch swing. This whole thing is insane. For a moment, Dean thinks that Veronica could be the one who killed Caroline. She had the knife and a freaking picture of the killer!

"Dean, I know you want the truth, but you need to just let it go. I promise you won't like what you hear," Veronica pleads. She's never told anyone about Erica, and she doesn't want to start now. She had planned on telling the brothers about it eventually, but not now.

"Try me," his voice is more commanding now, and she knows there's no getting out of this one.

"You sure?" Veronica asks, trying one last time to avoid it.

"Positive," Dean replies.

"Fine. You win. You want the fucking truth so bad, here it is. I used to live here. And you were right. I didn't just wake up and decide to be a hunter. I woke up one morning, and I saw my sister sitting at the kitchen table," Veronica begins, tears welling up in her eyes.

"So?" Dean pries.

"So, I watched my sister kill herself two years before that. She slit her throat with that knife right in front of me. She practically raised me, Dean. Just like you did with Sam," Veronica cries, tears cascading down her face as she hands Dean the picture. "I was fourteen years old when she did it. I begged her not to, but she didn't listen."

"You satisfied now?" she snaps.

A pang of guilt washes over Dean. He feels horrible as he gazes down at the picture. He wishes he would've just let it go. God, why can't he let anything go? Dean couldn't imagine loosing Sam, especially not like that. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Yeah, me too," she continues to cry. It's shocking. A week ago, Veronica never would have guessed that she'd tell anyone about Erica, and now she's spilling the whole damn story to a guy she just met.

Dean wraps his arm around her in an awkward half-hug, trying to calm her down. After a minute or two, she gets up and returns to the Impala, wiping away her tears. Part of Dean knows he should follow her, but instead, he goes back inside with Sam.

"You give me a call if anything else happens," Sam hands Ryan a card, and after receiving a nod of the young boy's head, he and Dean venture back to the car.

"We gotta stop for dinner, man. I'm starving," Dean slides behind the wheel. Veronica doesn't say a word to either of them.

"I assume you told him," Veronica says to Dean, but it comes out as more of a mix between a question and an accusation, rather than the statement it was intended to be.

Sam notices that her eyes are red even through her thick eyeliner. Has she been crying?

"Told me what?" Sam glances at Veronica and then at his brother. She is surprised. Maybe Veronica judged Dean a little too quickly. She didn't peg him to be the one to keep something that important from his brother.

"Uh, nothing, Sam. It's nothing," Dean answers, not looking at Sam.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm a big girl. I can handle it," Veronica steps in. "I think the ghost Caroline Williams summoned with the Ouija board was my sister, Erica."

"I didn't know you had a sister," Sam says. What did she tell Dean? Sam can tell just from looking at his brother that whatever they talked about is serious. Dean usually doesn't keep secrets like this from him.

"I did. When I was fourteen, she killed herself," Veronica explains.

"Are you sure she wasn't murdered, and this is her way of avenging her death? Because this isn't typical of-" Sam begins, but Dean cuts him off with a glare, silently begging him to shut his freaking mouth.

"Yes, I'm sure. I watched her slit her throat," Veronica says. She doesn't intend on going into further detail.

"I'm sorry," Sam says.

"Aren't we all," Veronica stares out the window, watching the road disappear under the sleek body of the Impala as the minutes slowly tick by.

"Why don't we stop here and grab a bite?" Dean offers, in a way, killing two birds with one stone: his growing hunger and the painfully uncomfortable atmosphere in the car. Sam and Veronica follow him into the pub.

Veronica slides into the booth next to Dean just as the waitress comes by to take their drink order. Each of them orders a beer, and given the events of the last hour, Veronica knows it won't be her last.

Sam knows something is off with his brother. The waitress is exactly his type: hot, blonde, and _way _too desperate. Dean didn't give her some cheesy pick-up line or even flash a smile her way.

"How are we gonna find Dad?" Sam asks Dean between bites of his chicken sandwich.

"Well it sounds like we're working the same job, so he's bound to turn up sometime," Dean responds, downing the rest of his drink. He tips the bottle all the way back to get the last sip out of it before ordering another round.

"Yeah, but what if he doesn't turn up in time?" Sam counters.

"He will," Dean promises, but he has trouble believing it. He tells himself Dad'll turn up. He always does -sooner or later. But what if he's wrong. Dean washes those thoughts away with another swig of beer. He has to make himself believe it -if not for his own comfort, for Sam's.

Because that's what big brothers do.

**Thanks for reading! This was an interesting chapter for me to write, and I hope you enjoyed it. Check out my other stories. They are ****_Behind the Sea _****and ****_Find Your Own Way Back Home. _****I also write on Fiction Press. My username is Impossible Girl. Please write a review!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Running Out of Time

Veronica trudges over to her motel room, fatigue taking over much more quickly than she'd like. Sometimes she forgets how exhausting this job can be -both physically and mentally. She has the key in the lock when she feels someone tap her on the shoulder. Veronica turns around, only to find Dean standing about a foot away, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about... well, ya know," Dean says. He's not really used to doing this. Apologizing is not something Dean's accustomed to. It never really has been.

Because you can't let your emotions interfere with the job. Dad's been drilling that into he and Sam's heads for as long as Dean can remember. Dean caught on young, but it never actually got through to Sam.

"It's fine. _Really. _I was gonna tell you anyway. Eventually," Veronica responds, and it wasn't a lie. She knew the truth about her sister would have to come out sooner or later, but Veronica heavily favored later.

"What?" Dean asks, noticing the odd look Veronica is giving him. It looks like a cross between a smile and surprise.

"It's just, I never really pegged you as the emotional type," Veronica marvels. Being a psychic, surprises are not something Veronica encounters with people, but once in a while, people are more complex than she can imagine.

Dean Winchester is one of those people.

"Neither do I. Or anyone else, for that matter," gazes off into the night, briefly letting a smile cross his lips as he stares at the stars. "So, we good?" he asks.

"Yeah, we're good," Veronica ventures into the room, tossing her jacket onto a nearby chair.

Sam stands in the doorway, smirk plastered on his face, as he watches Dean enter the room.

"Shut up," Dean silences the sarcastic comment that surely would have come out of his brother's mouth. Sam only grins as Dean pushes past him. Dean checks the time. It's only eight o'clock. He pulls out his phone and dials. Dean swears under his breath when the voicemail message plays.

"Dad, it's Dean. This thing you're hunting is not the thing that killed Mom. What it is, is a seriously pissed off ghost. So, uh, call me, I guess," Dean hangs up the phone and tosses it onto the bed.

"What now?" Sam asks, laying out the guns and knives on the bed.

"We find out where she's buried," Dean answers, already headed out the door. Dean takes long, brisk strides toward Veronica's door. He pauses for a moment before knocking.

"I need to know where your sister's buried," Dean says the second her door swings open. Veronica grabs her jacket and follows Dean to his room.

"As far as I know, she's still in the basement. I know, pretty cliché, but I was pressed for time. But someone could have found her. I mean, a lot can change in eleven years," Veronica takes a seat on the bed next to the weapons, taking a sip of the beer Sam hands her.

"Eleven _years_?" Dean asks, shocked. How long can you hide a body in a basement before someone notices? "How well did you hide her?"

"Pretty well for a fourteen year old," Veronica takes a big drink, washing away the pang of sadness she feels when she thinks of her sister.

"We'll head out tomorrow and burn the bones," Sam announces, receiving nods of agreement from Veronica and Dean.

Before someone can say anything else, somebody knocks on the door, saying, "Manager".

"Shit," Dean curses as he clicks off the light. He reaches for his gun on instinct.

"I know you're in there. You can either open the door, or I'll open it for you," the man commands, rapping on the door.

Sam turns the light back on and unlocks the door. A tall, overweight man steps inside and shuts it behind him. He is wearing baggy sweatpants and a _Star Wars _t-shirt. And Dean thought _Sam _was a geek.

"What is that?" the man points to the immense collection of guns and knives scattered about the bed.

"That," Dean gestures to Veronica, who is sitting next to the guns, "is a girl. I know you probably haven't been this close to one, but-"

"Shut up. I received a complaint," the man drones on. Veronica stifles a laugh as she grabs a rifle and creeps up behind the man. She smacks him over the head with the handle of the gun, and he falls to the floor, unconscious.

"Nice," Sam says.

"Grab your stuff and meet us outside," Dean instructs Veronica. She rushes back to her room and scoops up her duffle bag. When she reaches the parking lot, Sam and Dean are already waiting by the Impala.

"I'll follow you. I'm not leaving my Harley," Veronica straddles her bike, slipping a bike helmet on her head. Dean nods as he climbs into the Impala. He understands. Dean could never leave his baby behind.

He jams the keys into the ignition, but the car doesn't start. "C'mon, baby, don't fail me now," Dean begs, turning the key one last time. Much to his relief, the engine roars to life. Dean lets the gentle purr fill his ears as he speeds off down the road.

Sam's phone rings, startling him. "Hello," he answers. Sam switches it to speaker and holds it between him and his brother.

"Agent Young? It's Ryan. I, um, saw the girl again," Ryan's shaky voice echoes through the phone. Dean pulls out his phone and makes a call.

* * *

"Somebody better be dying," Veronica answers, moving her left hand to the middle of the handlebars in an effort to keep the bike steady.

"Change of plans. We're going to the house," Dean states, giving Veronica some warning before he makes a sharp turn onto a gravel road.

"What did she do?" Sam asks as he signals for Dean to drive faster.

"She just stood there, and then she said, 'I'm sorry, Roni. I'm so, so sorry'," Ryan says, though he has no idea what it means.

"Veronica, did your sister ever say, 'I'm sorry, Roni. I'm so, so sorry'?" Dean asks, stepping on the gas. He forces the pedal all the way to the floor.

"Yeah, she did. She must be reliving her death before she kills people, which means we've got about two minutes before she uses that knife," Veronica hangs up the phone and slips it into her pocket as she speeds down the road.

"Ryan, do you have any rock salt?" Sam asks. He knows they won't get there soon enough. He needs to buy Ryan some time.

"Yeah, why?" Ryan scans the room around him to make sure the girl doesn't come back. She is nowhere to be found.

"Get it and make a circle. If you have anything made of iron, get it," Sam orders.

* * *

Ryan sprints into the garage. He grabs a bag and hauls it onto his back. The heavy salt weighs him down, making it harder to move. He drops it in his living room. It lands with a thud on the floor. Ryan pours the salt on the floor, shaping it carefully, until he has a circle.

"Okay, I made the circle. I don't know if I have any iron," Ryan grows nervous when he hears the fear in the agent's voice.

"Do you have a fireplace?" Sam asks.

Ryan nods, then remember that can't see him. "Yeah."

"There should be a set of metal rods next to it. Grab one and stand in the circle. Do not break the circle. If she gets in, hit her with the iron," Sam instructs the boy. "Where's your dad?"

"I don't know," Ryan whispers.

"Just get in the circle and don't move till I get there," Sam orders.

"She's here," Ryan gasps.

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Unfortunately, there are only two chapters left in this story, but I am happy to announce that there will be a sequel. Please review, follow, and favorite!**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Family Feud

Dean pulls out his shotgun and races to the front door, closely followed by Sam and Veronica. He grabs the handle, but is stuck.

"Get back," Dean orders, giving the door a forceful kick. The frame splinters as it flies inward, smacking against the wall inside. They run inside. Ryan sits in the center of a salt circle, his features strained with fear. An iron rod is clutched tightly to his chest.

"Where is she?" Veronica asks. Ryan extends a shaky hand and points at the staircase. She must be upstairs. Veronica rushes to the basement. Sam swiftly climbs the stairs, taking them two at a time. Dean jogs after Veronica.

"Didn't he say _up_stairs?" Dean asks.

"The body's in the basement," Veronica explains, frantically searching for the spot.

"Where in the basement?" Dean searches with her, although he has no idea what he's looking for. This is much nicer than most basements. There are no spider webs clouding the ceiling or boxes stacked to the ceiling, creating a small maze. This one is finished, but it's clearly used for storage.

"Look for a painting," Dean scans the room, shotgun out in front of him. He hears the stairs creak. A young girl slowly descends them. He knows it must be Veronica's sister. Their resemblance is uncanny, though this girl is a few years older. She rushes at him with incredible speed. Before Dean can react, she is upon him. He fires the gun but misses.

Dean backs up until his back is pressed flat against the wall. She leans over him, gently dragging the knife against his cheek. "Don't worry. It'll all be over soon," she rasps as she presses the blade to his throat.

Dean grabs her wrist and tries to push it away, but it won't move. An icy chill comes off of her in waves.

Veronica picks up the gun Dean dropped and fires it at her sister, narrowly missing Dean's head with the salt bullet. It splatters against the wall after Erica's figure fades away. "Here," she tosses the gun into Dean's arms.

"Thanks," Dean rubs his neck, trying to rid himself of the remaining chill left over from the ghost's icy touch.

"Don't mention it," Veronica leads Dean to the place where an oil painting once hung on the wall. Her hand closes around a hammer, and she smacks the wall with it. Plaster rains down upon the floor with each swing Veronica takes. Finally, there is a big enough hole for the both of them to crawl through.

Dean follows Veronica through the wall. He knows this is where the body is. He can smell the rotting flesh. Wow. If this is what this girl does when she is 'pressed for time' at age fourteen, then Dean seriously underestimated her. If he had just watched his someone close to him kill themselves, he wouldn't have been able to think to seal the body behind a wall.

The body lies in the middle of the room. A bloody gash on her throat is her most prominent feature. Her blue eyes have long since glazed over. Long black hair flows gracefully down her back. Dean turns his head to look at Veronica. She nods, silently telling him to go ahead, to finish this.

Dean takes out the gasoline and douses the corpse. He pours salt on top of her. The flame of his lighter flickers in the dim lighting of the room. He drops it, and it sends the body up in flames.

Veronica watches intently as her sister burns. Erica's been down here for eleven years. In some places, the skin has completely rotted away, revealing her bones. The flames lick the air as they consume Erica's body. Veronica can't help the small traces of a smile that appear on her face when she realizes that this whole mess will be over.

When the body is reduced to ashes, Dean and Veronica climb out of the room.

"Thank God that's over," Veronica sighs. She'll miss Erica, but she's relieved to know that her sister won't kill anyone else.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. They return to a comfortable silence. The peaceful quiet is interrupted by a crash followed by a scream and a gunshot. Dean and Veronica sprint up the stairs, only to find Ryan staring at the ceiling. Shards of glass from a broken vase are scattered about the floor, some of them frighteningly close to the small boy in the circle.

"What happened?" Dean asks, looking to Sam for an answer.

"This girl came up and threw the vase across them room and went straight upstairs," Sam explains, gesturing to the mess. "I shot it, but it reappeared and kept going."

"I thought we torched the frickin' thing," Dean huffs, exasperated.

"Oh crap," Veronica runs up the staircase when she remembers the key hanging around her neck.

"Take the kid outside," Dean orders. He takes off after Veronica. He finds her in the room at the end of the hallway. She is sitting on the floor, flattened against the wall with the ghost hovering over her.

"In the closet," Veronica tosses the chain with the key to Dean before he has the chance to shoot. He dashes inside, pushing past numerous boxes and random crap that has accumulated over the years.

Erica grabs Veronica by the neck with one hand and hauls her to her feet, malevolent eyes staring into Veronica. Erica lifts her sister higher, until her feet struggle to reach the floor. They dangle in the air, searching for something to stand on. Veronica gasps for air. She grabs her sister's wrist and tries to pry it off of herself.

Dean reaches the back of the closet, and he finds a lock. He forces the key into it. It sticks as he attempts to turn it. Dean grips it with both hands. It still won't budge. He hears Veronica choking and gasping for breath coming from the bedroom. _C'mon, damn it. _Dean feels the key starting to give.

Finally, he unlocks it. The small door swings open, revealing the interior of a small safe. A book and a piece of paper are its only contents. Dean scoops the small book up and opens it. Small, delicate handwriting dances across each page. It can't be Veronica's. Her handwriting isn't nearly as neat. Dean guesses that the book is a diary.

The piece of paper also contains the same writing, but it's only two paragraphs long. Dean only needs to read the first sentence before he figures out exactly what it is.

It's a suicide note.

"Oh my God," Dean whispers, folding the paper and tucking it into the book. Should he tell Veronica about it? She probably doesn't want to see it. Especially not now, but Dean knows he has to.

* * *

"Don't worry. It'll all be over soon," Erica whispers. She slashes the side of Veronica's neck with the blade, just below her ear. Veronica can feel a warm trickle of blood dripping down the side of her neck. She struggles for air as her vision goes black at the edges, her world slowly spiraling away.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. The next one will be the last chapter. The sequel to this fic will be called _Occupational Hazards__. _Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: If You Love Me, Let Me Go

Veronica feels her energy draining out of her as her life slowly slips away. Then, she remembers something. She has salt. "Not today, bitch," Veronica says with much more force than she thought she had left. She grabs a handful of salt and throws it at her sister. Erica disappears. Veronica falls to the floor, catching her breath and pressing a hand to the cut on the side of her neck.

"You alright?" Dean asks as he pulls her to her feet.

"Yeah," Veronica answers, wiping the blood on her jeans.

"I got it," Dean waves the book in the air.

"What is it?" Veronica asks. In all those years, she never once wanted to open that safe, mostly because she was afraid of what might have been inside. She's not afraid anymore.

"It's a diary... and a suicide note," Dean tentatively pulls out the piece of paper. "You sure you want to read it?"

"It's been eleven years, and I never once wanted to look inside that safe. It'd be kind of stupid now if I didn't read it," Veronica takes the letter. She unfolds it, wondering if she really wants to see it. She doesn't, but a small part of her compels her to look.

"It's weird. She doesn't actually give a reason. She just talks about how she had to do it. It doesn't seem like her," Veronica pulls out her lighter and holds the corner of the paper over the flame. She lets the burning letter drop to the floor. Dean tosses the diary into the flames. Anyone else would probably feel sadness as they watch their dead sister's last possessions burn.

But Veronica isn't just anyone. Still, she wants to feel _something. _It's as if all of her emotions are held behind a wall, just waiting to burst forth and envelop her.

And then the wall shatters.

It all comes down when Veronica sees Erica standing in the doorway. She just stares into Veronica's eyes, and then she disappears as the flames encompass her. But Veronica isn't sad -not even the least bit upset. What she feels, is relief. Because that thing was not her sister. Erica would never try to kill her.

In all of Dean's experience, when a body's burned, it's all over. This time, however, is different. Blood pours down the walls, forming crimson puddles on the wood floor. Eventually, it stops, and Dean and Veronica are left standing in the center of the room, surrounded by blood.

"Well, that's a new one," Veronica stares at the mess. Dean only nods.

"We should probably get out of here before the police show up," Dean suggests.

"How do you know the cops'll come?" Veronica asks.

"Personal experience," Dean answers, leading Veronica out of the room.

"Really? The police show up _that _much after you finish a hunt? Amateur," Veronica jokes.

* * *

Sam and Ryan are waiting by the Impala when Veronica and Dean emerge from the house. Dean tosses his bag that is filled with his weapons into the trunk with the others. Ryan's eyes widen at the sight of the Winchester's immense collection of guns and knives.

"You're not really FBI are you?" Ryan asks, beginning to make his way back to the house.

"No, we're not," Sam answers.

"You might want to hang that picture back up in the basement," Veronica calls after him.

"Why? Is there something behind it? Like a safe or a hidden room?" Ryan asks, intrigued. The excitement in his voice is almost tangible.

_Man, this kid watches too many movies, _Dean thinks.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know what was behind it," Veronica replies.

"You cleaned up the ashes?" Dean asks her. Veronica nods, subtly clasping her hand around the small glass bottle in her jacket pocket. For some reason, Veronica felt she needed to take them. If she has the time, Veronica plans to bury them, mostly for closure.

* * *

"What's wrong?" Dean asks Sam, who is sitting on the bed, eyes gazing out the window at the night sky.

"I thought we were gonna find Dad this time," Sam lets out a shaky laugh as he turns to face his brother. He doesn't know why he gets his hopes up. Every time he and Dean come close to finding Dad, he disappears, starting the cycle all over again. Every damn time.

"He may still turn up," Dean says, his voice slipping into the reassuring tone it took when they were kids. When he had to tell Sammy they had to move, or when Dad was gonna miss his birthday, _again. _

"Right, just like he did all the other times we looked for him," Sam responds, bringing back the memories of the countless hours he and his brother spent scouring the country for a man who doesn't want to be found.

"Maybe he got my message and took off," Dean suggests.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam sighs.

Dean glances out the window. He sees someone walking through the parking lot. "I'll be right back," Dean says as he heads outside.

* * *

Veronica gathers her things and makes her way to her Harley, leaving the motel behind. She leaves her room and walks out into the parking lot. The cold, winter air settles on her skin and fills her lungs with each breath she takes. The moon's beams fall gracefully upon her as she moves deeper into the night. She does feel kind of bad for leaving Sam and Dean like this, but she doesn't need to stick around. She left a note, but she has to go. Veronica found another job a couple of states over.

Veronica has her bag secured to her bike when she hears footsteps pounding on the pavement behind her.

"You forgot this," Dean holds the key out to her, chain entwined in his fingers. He's not surprised that she's leaving. In fact, he expected it.

"Keep it," Veronica responds. She doesn't need yet another reminder of her sister. The knife and the ashes are enough.

"Bye, Dean, Veronica says, taking a step toward her bike. "Thanks."

Dean takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. He places his hand at the base of her neck, pulling her closer to him. Dean presses his lips to hers as he hooks his other arm around her waist.

Veronica didn't expect this, but she finds herself entwining her fingers at the top of his neck, leaning into the kiss.

"Bye," Dean pulls away, giving her a smile. A real smile. Veronica returns it as she hops on her motorcycle.

When Veronica revs the engine, Dean asks, "You think I'll see you again?" Veronica can hear the hope in his voice.

"I don't know," Veronica answers, and that is the best response she can give at the moment. Because they both know it's highly unlikely.

Dean knows he will probably never see this girl again. In their particular line of work, having anything even remotely close to normal just doesn't happen. And having a girlfriend definitely qualifies as normal. But 'I don't know' could mean yes, and that is enough for now. Dean watches Veronica speed down the road until she vanishes into the night.

Dean feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out of his jacket. The screen reads, "NEW MESSAGE". A set of numbers flash across the screen. Coordinates. A broad grin appears on Dean's face -a genuine smile. The second one that Dean has worn tonight. One that Dean does not wear very often.

Veronica feels the wind whip through her hair as she flies down the road. That was definitely one of the better goodbyes she's experienced. It was nice, but she doesn't expect it to turn into anything more. Dean Winchester is not exactly the type of person whose relationships typically last for longer than one night.

But people can sometimes surprise Veronica.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and sticking around for all ten chapters! I hope you liked the last chapter. Sadly, I do not own _Supernatural _or any of its characters. The only things I own are the characters of Veronica, Roger, Caroline, Erica, and Ryan. The sequel to this fic, _Occupational Hazards__, _will be posted today. Please leave a review and tell me what you think of this story. **

**Here is an excerpt from _Occupational Hazards_****:**

_**Veronica hears footsteps pounding on the floor above her. They grow closer with every second. The sound of several locks clicking fills the room just before the heavy door swings open. The men who captured her saunter inside.**_

_**One of them is tall. His blonde hair takes the form of a crew cut. His dark eyes have a way of staring not at you, but right through you. Every inch of his clothing is black, and he has two rings sticking out of his eyebrow. But his most prominent feature is the bandage covering his nose.**_

_**The other is average sized. His dark brown hair falls into his ice-blue eyes. He takes long, confident strides around the room, as if asserting his dominance.**_

_**"Miss me?" the dark-eyed man asks, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.**_

_**"Bite me," Veronica snaps. "No, wait, you actually might."**_

_**"Watch it," he retorts.**_

_**"What is it you want?" Veronica asks. She watches them carefully, assessing them for any possible weaknesses. So far, she finds none.**_

_**"We just want to ask you one little question," he says.**_

_**"So you tied me up in the basement just to ask one question? Seems a bit tedious if you ask me," Veronica informs them.**_

_**"Then it's a good thing we're not asking you," the dark-eyed man snaps. She can tell he's getting irritated. **_

_**"Oh, by the way, love the outfit. The broken nose really completes the look. I've got some eyeliner you can use if you really want to look intimidating," Veronica smiles.**_

_**"Shut up," he snaps.**_

_**"Why don't you just tell me what you want," Veronica suggests.**_

_**"We want a location," the blue-eyed man takes over the interrogation.**_

_**"You're gonna have to be more specific," Veronica says.**_

_**"We want you to tell us where the Winchesters are," he wastes no more time in getting to the point. **_

_**"What's in it for me?" Veronica asks, raising an eyebrow.**_

_**"Anything your little heart desires," he says.**_


End file.
